


Panic Attack

by Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat)



Category: Singularity North
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcat/pseuds/Eternal%20Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teagan is not having an easy time of it following the death of her mentor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic Attack

I should be disturbed that when I pour hot water over a white pomegranate teabag that it looks like the teabag is bleeding at first. I should be, but I’m not. It’s just tea, right? It’s not related to any real damage. It’s not like I’m watching someone die.

Again.

It’s nothing like holding him and not being able to stop the blood, even though I was so sure his killer was going to murder me, too. It that moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted to stop _his_ bleeding, save _his_ life. Get _him_ to help.

Devon. My mentor, my friend.

I have to step back from the counter because my hands are starting to shake again. The tea will eventually turn the water to a more burgundy than red color, but for right now, all I see is streams of red drizzling out from the bag as hot water was poured over it.

I turn away from the counter, clenching my hands over each over as I pull them hard against my stomach.

I know what comes next: the tears that won’t stop and the feeling that I’m suffocating. I can’t talk, can’t scream for help. It’s like all of the air is choked out of me.

The doctors call it grief. The shrink calls it post-traumatic stress. My friends and teammates at work call it panic.

I don’t know what the correct term is, I just know that I can’t stop the attacks and I can’t stop how thinking about what happened to him makes me feel.

I don’t have a flatmate – hell, I’m surprised I even still have a flat of my own. I had been staying with him while we worked on the research and presentation documentation for one of my theories. He had the extra room and it made sense to have me there since I was his assistant as well as his student. It raised some eyebrows, sure, what with me being eighteen and female and him being a bit older. There was never anything improper that went on. He was my mentor and nothing else had ever occurred to either one of us. The work was what mattered.

I guess that’s why we got along so well.

Without having someone nearby to help me through this one, I wedge myself in what has become my so-called “safe place” in the place between the back of my sofa and the wall. No one can come at me without me hearing and seeing them from this position.

Rationally, when I’m able to be rational, I don’t think I have anything to fear from his killer. I was plenty vulnerable when I was leaning over his body and trying to save him that I could have easily been taken out, too.

Fear is not rational. Panic is not rational.

I close my eyes, trying to take slow, steadying breaths as I was taught. However when I close my eyes, all I can see is him on the floor and blood everywhere. All I can see is the killer standing not far from him and looking surprised to see me come out of the library. He should have taken the time to kill me as I was screaming over Devon’s body, but he didn’t – though I can’t believe he didn’t think about it. Most killers don’t leave behind witnesses who can identify them.

Do they? I don’t know. This was the first time I had ever witnessed a murder.

My mind is a jumbled mess of thoughts as I bury my face in my knees. 

_I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe_

I don’t know how much time has passed and I’m not even sure I care. I’m still behind the sofa and I’m staying there. Everything hurts and my throat is killing me from trying to form sounds that just won’t come through the rain of tears.

_I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe_

I’m suddenly made aware of the sofa moving and large hands coming toward me. I try to make myself smaller, suddenly terrified that the killer has come back, but it doesn’t help. I’m trapped.

Gentle hands, far too gentle for the size most would think have managed to get themselves around me and start pulling me out into the light.

_I know these hands_

“Teagan, ah Teagan, you’re safe now. I promise.”

The voice, I know that voice. It’s a safe voice, a soothing voice. A gentle, yet rumbly voice.

It’s Bob. Bob from TEAR.

His voice and his hands around my waist as he pulls me out of the hidey hole and against him are acting as an anchor. He anchors me to the here and keeps the icy black terror from swallowing me up again.


End file.
